Wilgje.net

Nerd at a breezah-party

So I’m twenty-two years old right now, and for a couple of years I’ve been hanging out with the coolest group of friends I’ve known so far. Strangely, most of them are either geeks, nerds, or both. Maybe that is not so strange at all though, for they tend to be the only ones to understand my (sometimes quite fuzzy) logic. Moreover, they’re usually incredibly patient when I whine too much or need an explanation for something which involves Queen Amidala and Aragorn.

Enter my colleagues at the gas station. I work there in the weekends, and my colleagues are fun to work with. We share the lamest jokes, the weirdest Irish accent and the most intricate sexual puns and jokes involving g-strings from the ‘Zeeman’ (the cheapest clothing shop Known To Man). The two trips we made last year only added to that fun.

My weird attitude has probably made my colleagues think I’m cool enough to get invited to a few parties. The thing about those parties is, I fit in about as well as I would in a party-dress designed for Beyoncé. I walk in and everyone turns and stares at me. First time they were thinking “OMG WTF she’s goth!”, for I was wearing my gothic dress. Only my colleagues were delighted to see me, and I had loads of fun but only with them.

The last party I went to was a few weeks ago, and they had karaoke. The big idea was that you had to put yourself on one of the lists and then it would be your turn soon enough. First I talked a long time with an ex-colleague I hadn’t talked to in a while, after that the karaoke began. I even put myself on the list, thinking singing would be fun and perchance make me look interesting. I noticed the fashion, which for women seems to be knee-high boots and odd-looking jeans from the knee up. I’m not really into that kind of fashion, but then again, if you’re bigger than top-model-size you can simply forget that look. Then for guys it’s mostly tight D&G shirts with texts like “Who the fuck is D&G”. I’ve come to the point where I prefer a commercial for something computer-, network- or OS-related on a t-shirt. That, and pink is so last wednesday.

The karaoke started at midnight, after a communal shot of tequila (my first one ever). After that, I noticed six people in total who were singing the whole time. I felt like I did at the school parties we used to have at secondary school every year: horribly out of place and still strangely honoured to be there. Those parties are fun to watch, but impossible to join. I left at about 3am, without having had my turn behind the mic. I was simply getting too tired and cranky. Maybe they called my name after I left, maybe my name never came up. It doesn’t really matter, because I don’t think it was such a good idea anyway. Why, of all times, would I care to seek the attention of the beautiful people now?

Usually I consider myself to be quite independent and free of care about the opinions of others. I guess this was a relapse…